


The Third Kind

by GoldenUsagi



Series: The Third Kind [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenUsagi/pseuds/GoldenUsagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Sherlock does know the solar system.  Because he’s an alien.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Entanglednow and I have decided that we will each try to write one fic a month where Sherlock is some sort of creature. Be sure to check out her [alien!Sherlock](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1871901) fic as well!
> 
> Beta'd by entanglednow and verdant_fire.

The day the aliens landed, the world went to war.

It wasn’t like in the movies. It was nothing so affirming or spectacular as various nations pulling themselves together, a unified front against a planetary threat. It was petty and predictable, and oh so very _human_.

Numerous wars broke out between different factions all over the globe. They were in all the usual places, as well as a few unusual places. Political wars reignited with fervour; religious wars literally exploded across the map. _Of course_ humanity would use a watershed event to continue old arguments.

The alien contact was the only news story for a solid two weeks. Government officials, religious leaders, and ‘experts’ were on television non-stop discussing What This Event Meant. Some people were optimistic and downright ecstatic; others were paranoid and preparing for the worst. No matter who was talking, the cycle of opinions was always the same.

Daily life in most places was disrupted, since in general, people were scared and uncertain. Shelves were bare the day they were restocked as people hoarded. There were riots in places that had never had even the smallest upset before. London had instituted a curfew, as most large cities had. It wasn’t completely enforceable—not that it mattered, as most residents suddenly wanted to be out as little as possible.

John had been sitting in a pub when the football match on telly had been interrupted by the broadcast that was now universally referred to as Contact. He’d watched, stunned to silence with the rest of the pub, as ships were shown and as a broadcast from said ships was shown. When the airwaves had been re-established, they had cut to a newsroom and basically never left.

He hadn’t left his bedsit for three days after that, during which he parked himself in front of the telly and watched the coverage. On the fourth day, when it became clear that the news had turned into nothing but an echo chamber, he turned the telly off and only checked his laptop when he woke up each morning to see if anything important had taken place.

Besides going out to get groceries or some takeaway, John mostly stayed in. London felt strange to walk around in now. Of course the world couldn’t come to a complete stop; people had to go to work, and there were the usual commuters, but they all had a harried, hurried air about them now. Taking a stroll to take his mind off things was no longer an enjoyable pastime.

Things, of course, being the fact that he had no job, no prospects, and no purpose. John had never felt more adrift than when he’d caught sight of some old Army mates in uniform, in one of the sweeping shots that played during a montage while some MP talked about Britain being ready to defend itself if necessary.

John thought that was all rubbish, personally (what could several thousand men with guns and even missiles do against beings that had the technology to keep massive ships hovering just above the planet?), but he suddenly longed to be doing _something_. He didn’t even have employment, or anything he could do to feel productive in spite of the uncertainty hovering all around them.

It wasn’t entirely surprising that he took to walking the streets in the dead of night, his gun tucked into the band of his trousers. John didn’t really expect anything to _happen_ , but there was something about the potential of it that got his blood pumping. Aimlessly roaming the nearly deserted streets of London gave him a peculiarly steady feeling that he hadn’t experienced since he’d come back from Afghanistan.

Most people he encountered on these walks didn’t give him a second glance. They were usually hurrying about their own business. The exceptions were the people who were out for no good reason. John hadn’t actually seen anyone trying to break into a shop or harass anyone else, but he had exchanged words with groups of young lads several times. Words, and in one case a sprained wrist and a busted nose. He had also discovered that a cane made a good weapon when wielded properly.

That had been the extent of any altercations. However, tonight it looked like he might have finally found himself in the middle of something.

When he rounded a corner, he walked straight into an argument that was escalating into violence. There was a posh bloke facing off against three boys who were out to cause trouble.

“I told you, I don’t have any money,” the tall man said, looking perfectly at ease.

“You got a death wish? Hand it over!” The leader moved in closer, brandishing the gun he held.

John took a step forward, one hand already reaching into his waistband. “Hey!”

“Shit, man.”

John didn’t hear which one of them said it, because the next sound that rang throughout the street was a gunshot.

The lead boy’s hand was shaking, and he gaped at the man, who had put a hand to his own chest. John didn’t know where wannabe punks like that had even dug up a gun. They’d clearly been horrified when it had actually gone off at a finger slip. The next moment, the three of them turned as one and ran in the other direction.

John was at the man’s side instantly, everything gone from his head but saving a life. “I’m a doctor,” he said, moving the man’s hand from his chest and starting to undo his shirt buttons. Frankly, he was amazed that the man was still standing. Maybe he was still in shock.

However, it was John who had a shock when he encountered nothing but unmarred skin. There was absolutely no sign of any sort of wound. At first, he thought that the gun must have miraculously misfired, or simply missed due to incredibly bad aim, but no, there was the bullet hole straight through the shirt.

John stepped back a pace. “You… they…” He wasn’t entirely sure how to finish that sentence.

The man was watching him—had been doing nothing but watching him since he’d run over, John suddenly realised.

“I suppose you’re looking for this,” the man said. He held two fingertips close to his chest, and John watched, dumbfounded, as the bullet _worked its way out of his skin_. Seamlessly. Bloodlessly. The man held up the bullet, which didn’t even look like it had been fired into flesh, between his fingers.

John’s mouth fell open. That wasn’t humanly possible. Which meant that the man in front of him—wasn’t. Wasn’t human. 

“Unnecessary,” he continued, placing the bullet in John’s hand. “Though I appreciate your concern.”

John desperately tried to process the fact that he’d met an alien. _No one_ had met aliens. No one besides the higher-ups in the government had so much as talked to an alien.

He wasn’t surprised that the alien looked human, of course. They all looked human. Or more to the point, they could look human. They could look like anything. They were shapeshifters without true form as humans thought of it and were fundamentally different on a molecular level. After the video demonstrating such had been released, it hadn’t taken long for the Internet to dub them as similar to Odo from _Star Trek_.

John realised he should really be doing anything other than thinking about _Star Trek_.

He suddenly heard sirens. It didn’t occur to him that that meant anything in particular until the alien spoke.

“They’re going to think you fired the shot, given that you have a concealed firearm.” Then he grabbed John’s hand. “Come on!”

It would have been smart, John reflected, to have done anything but allow the alien to drag him along. But it was absurdly easy to follow after him.

After a dozen paces, the alien let go of John’s hand, seemingly confident that John was going to keep up with him. 

John saw the lights flashing behind them as they rounded the street corner. Someone had obviously called to report the gunshot; a police car must have already been in the area in order to make such good time.

Without the awkwardness of holding hands, they both started to run faster. John went with him as they left the streets and cut into alleys and back ways. They ran long after anyone could have possibly been chasing them, finally coming out on a deserted street full of closed shops.

John paused, bracing his hands against his thighs as he caught his breath.

“That,” he said, “was completely ridiculous.”

“Though entertaining. And the most fun I’ve had since I got here.”

It suddenly occurred to John that all the conspiracy theorists on the Internet might be right—if the aliens could look like anything, who’s to say they weren’t everywhere, that they hadn’t been here for years?

“Don’t be tiresome. If we were planning on infiltrating your world in secret, we wouldn’t have bothered with the spectacular arrival.”

“Are you reading my mind?” John demanded.

“Hardly.” He put his hands in his coat pockets. “Your thoughts might as well be written on your face. At any rate, the planet will be off-limits for years to any who aren’t part of the diplomatic corps, so you needn’t worry.”

“Are _you_ part of the diplomatic corps?” Whatever had been going on back there, it hadn’t looked very diplomatic.

The alien rolled his eyes. Actually _rolled his eyes_. It was disturbingly human. “The only one who could hope to keep me from doing what I want is my brother, and he’s mostly given up trying.” He turned, leisurely strolling down the street.

John followed.

He realised he was still holding the bullet in his other hand. The bullet that hadn’t so much as fazed the alien, the bullet that he had basically _absorbed_.

“It has to do with variable density and autonomy at a molecular level,” the alien said, guessing his thoughts again. “You’ve seen the demonstration?”

“Yeah.” Everyone had seen the demonstration. Within five hours of someone uploading it to YouTube, it became the video with the greatest number of hits of all time. It had shown an alien forming from their natural state into human shapes, as well as doing some impossible things similar to what John had just witnessed.

“An honest explanation of our nature, as well as a subtle hint that you don’t have the means to harm us.” He made a dismissive noise. “Politics.”

John put the bullet in his pocket. Call it his weird souvenir of the evening. Then he held out his hand.

“I’m John. John Watson.”

The alien paused in his stride, grasping John’s hand in a firm handshake. “Sherlock.”

He looked thoroughly human, sounded thoroughly English—it took a lot to remember that he wasn’t any of those things.

“So what are you doing here?” John asked.

“Taking in the sights, I suppose. I’ve been visiting a different capital city every day. But I’m considering skipping the rest of them. I’ve been here seventeen days and already I’m bored out of my mind. Your planet is dreadfully dull.”

“Space ships floating overhead tend to put a dampener on things,” John snapped.

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed absently. He didn’t look at all offended. “I never can seem to manage to make planetfall before the broadcasts go out.”

John paused. Besides the general message of peace, there had been no public word on what the aliens were actually doing here, besides platitudes about welcoming humanity to the galaxy and expanding its horizons. It was all very vague.

It occurred to him that he had an alien right here, one who seemed a bit flippant about the whole thing. John wasn’t sure he’d actually get any answers, but he was suddenly certain that he wouldn’t get carefully worded repetitions of the official position.

“Why are you actually here? Your people, I mean?”

An eyebrow raised. Another human mannerism executed to perfection. John wondered if Sherlock practiced, or if he was just naturally good at assuming his role. The aliens on the official videos looked human enough, but their expressions seemed carefully painted, like they hadn’t quite figured out the nuances of human micro-expressions.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not to me,” John said. “Or anyone else, really.”

“We’re here to keep you from destroying yourselves.”

That stopped John in his tracks. “Oh. Right.”

“Nuclear holocaust, biological warfare, diminishing resources, the hole in your atmosphere—it’s only a matter of which one gets you first.” Sherlock turned to look at him. “Generally, the policy of the Alliance is to let a planet progress at its own level without interference until they’ve at least achieved a stable form of interplanetary travel. But exceptions are made if it looks like the potential of a species is about to be utterly wasted.”

Something Darwinian flashed through John’s mind. “If we’re really about to destroy ourselves, I’m surprised you don’t figure we have it coming.”

“Some think that. But the majority agree that extinction rarely leaves the universe a better place.” Sherlock’s lips turned up in a small smile. “Even if your planet is boring beyond measure.” He started walking again.

“So when were you planning on telling _us_ any of that?”

“Oh, your leaders have already been told. I imagine the news will be out soon enough. From there it’s a matter of incredibly tedious diplomacy, not to mention appeasing the population at large.” Sherlock sounded like he had already lost interest. “It will be over a decade before things have been stabilised, I imagine. You have so many factions to pacify. You’re also incredibly suspicious.”

“Yeah, well, ‘To Serve Man’ will do that to you.”

Sherlock’s face was peculiarly blank, almost as if he were running what John said through some sort of culture filter in his mind. Then it passed, and he gave John a scornful look. “Yes, because we travelled thousands of light years for new and exciting cuisine. Please.”

“I’m just saying. People have spent a lot of time thinking about aliens, and it’s usually not positive unless it’s on _Star Trek_ or _Doctor Who_. Look at how many movies have aliens just showing up to destroy Earth for no particular reason.”

“Well, implementing the new order will be my brother’s problem. I look forward to seeing him deal with your preconceived misconceptions. This is one of the worst planets I’ve seen, in that respect.”

“New order?” John asked. Despite what Sherlock had said earlier, that sounded a bit not good.

“Standard procedure,” Sherlock said dismissively. “Earth will be welcomed as an Associate World; our scientists will be made available to you and your scientists taught all we have to offer. Humanity will be given access to clean forms of energy, better ways to produce food, and vastly improved medical treatment. It’s not our intention to govern your world, but all citizens must have these things available to them. I’m sure you can imagine that it’s not always as straightforward as it sounds.”

John could imagine that, given what had happened in the wake of the aliens’ mere arrival. But the idea of a peaceful world where people had the things Sherlock mentioned as a matter of course? He couldn’t find anything terrible there.

“My species, as far as we know, was the first to achieve flight that left our solar system. That was tens of thousands of your years ago. We made contact with other species, and the discovered worlds slowly accumulated. Together, they became the Alliance. My species continues to head it, though it’s more a matter of managing than it is ruling. There are thousands of Associate Worlds now, and our achievements are built on the brightest minds and innovations of hundreds of worlds working together. In time, your people will be given full access to the empire, able to get on a ship and travel freely to the farthest corners of the galaxy.”

The idea of being able to board a ship on Earth and go halfway across the galaxy was boggling. What kid watching _Doctor Who_ hadn’t dreamed of getting on a ship and blasting into space? Though by the time regular citizens could do that, it would probably be long after his time. John laughed to himself. “I’d be happy just to go to the Moon.”

“You shouldn’t set your sights so low, John.” Sherlock stopped walking and turned to face him.

“Huh?”

Sherlock’s stare was intense and his lips quirked in a smirk. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You’re wandering the streets with an illegal firearm—those are illegal in this country, yes?—during a government-enforced curfew. What’s more, from your manner, this has been a regular occurrence with you. That probably means you have no employment and no family—certainly no family you’re close to. You aren’t looking to cause trouble, but you are looking for trouble. You said you’re a doctor, but you were something else as well. Law enforcement? No? Ah, military then. You were obviously let go due to your injury, which left you generally feeling useless. Particularly at a time like this, when the military has such purpose. You even seem to derive calm from stressful situations; doubtless that’s why you seek them out. All of these facts lend excellent support to the idea that there’s nothing for you here.”

John pursed his lips. “You know, I’m still not entirely convinced that you’re not reading my mind.”

“I should also point out that your limp was entirely psychosomatic, as you haven’t even remembered it since you dropped your cane and rushed to my aid. You thrive on excitement. It literally does wonders for you.”

“All right,” John said slowly. “But that doesn’t explain what’s in it for you.”

Sherlock gave a small shrug. “I don’t dislike company. And seeing the universe alone does get so very dull at times.”

“I am _not_ ,” John emphasised, “leaving the planet with you just because you’re _bored_.”

“Could be dangerous.” Sherlock smirked again.

“You’re unbelievable.”

However, John couldn’t deny the way his heart had leapt in his chest at Sherlock’s invitation. Even now, there was a steady thrum of excitement building in him, background noise that was quickly drowning out all the reasons he shouldn’t do this. The whole idea was insane. It could very possibly result in his quick and imminent demise. 

But it’s not as if he hadn’t risked his life before. And never for something as thrilling as outer space.

“Where would we even go?” he asked.

Sherlock’s expression broke out into a brilliant smile as he realised he had John hooked. “Anywhere, everywhere. There are loads of interesting Associate Worlds, and that’s not even mentioning the ones that haven’t been discovered yet.”

“I’m human, you know. I can’t do what you do. That could be sort of limiting.”

“The ship’s atmosphere is controllable. It’s irrelevant to me, so it can be set however you wish. And obviously we’ll stay away from any planets that are uninhabitable to you. I can always go alone if something looks too fascinating to miss.”

“I’ll also need food,” John said plainly. He figured Sherlock knew this, but he didn’t want to find out later that food was something that shapeshifting aliens didn’t consider when making travel plans.

“We’ve done a complete biological survey of your planet. The replicators are capable of producing anything you would wish to eat.”

“Replicators? Like on _Star Trek_?”

“Not everything we are has already been imagined by you on _Star Trek_ ,” Sherlock said disdainfully.

John smiled. “Well, I guess you’re going to have to prove me wrong on that.”

Sherlock clapped his hands together. “Excellent! We can leave tonight.”

“Hang on. Isn’t this all, well, sort of illegal? You said humans wouldn’t be able to travel off-planet for years.”

“Oh, that,” Sherlock said, waving a hand. “My brother runs the Alliance.”

“When you say ‘runs’…?”

“I mean that he sits at the head of a galactic empire. And that affords me certain privileges which I abuse shamelessly. Shall we go?”

“This instant?”

“Problem?”

John considered. It wasn’t like he had any business to tie up. He could literally vanish off the face of the earth tonight and no one would miss him. That should have been depressing, but he found himself laughing instead. In the space of one evening, his crappy life had turned miraculously, spectacularly upside down. 

Sherlock was still watching him intently.

John shot him a grin, shrugging at the city around him. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

Sherlock smiled in turn. “Take my hand.”

John did.


End file.
